Mission: Improbable
by netrat
Summary: COMPLETE! Hogan and the Heroes discover the biggest threat to their operation... English food. (In response to the Switcharoo Challenge.)


_DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hogan's Heroes, not even Newkirk (and I didn't teach him to cook either)._

_SUMMARY: Hogan and the Heroes discover the biggest threat to their operation... English food._

_This is in – somewhat delayed – response to the Switcharoo Challenge, posted on Smartgroups.com by Lauren (the Oboe) one. The rules are outlined at the end. _

****

**_Mission: Improbable_**

**_by netrat_**

The sun was slowly setting behind the machine gun turrets of Stalag 13, but this time even Hogan could not appreciate the sight. For one thing, tonight's scheduled bombing mission, while hopefully putting a significant dent in the German tank production effort, would take quite a few casualties. Much as Hogan liked to blow up German equipment, killing factory workers who, after all, were only doing their job didn't really appeal to him. But there was no other way. On top of that, LeBeau and Newkirk had started a fight just an hour ago that had ended with LeBeau being sent to the cooler. Not an unusual occurrence really, but this time it had not been one of the carefully choreographed distractions they all knew and loved; LeBeau had simply lost his temper after one "bloody frog" comment too many and slammed the completely surprised Newkirk against the wall of the Kommandantur. It had been quite a sight – much like a terrier pushing a German Shepherd around, Hogan mused. Schultz, who courtesy to Burkhalter's recent visits was actually beginning to resemble a German soldier, had been furious and even the thought of apple strudel would not stop him from punishing LeBeau. Still, Hogan was more concerned about the outburst than about the Frenchman spending the next week in the cooler. He'd already sent Carter through the tunnel to get their resident chef in time for tonight's mission and, hopefully, a decent dinner before it.

***

Carter crept underneath the barracks and, after listening intensely for any noises, shoved his way out of the tunnel into LeBeau's cell. His friend was sitting on the cot, frowning and definitely not looking as cheerful as usual. Carter had been as surprised as anyone else by the Frenchman's outburst, but in a way he could understand it. They were all on edge after Burkhalter'd recently taken such an interest in the camp, the latest news from France had been less than encouraging, and ... heck, everyone wanted to slap Newkirk at times.

"What are you waiting for, Louie?" Carter asked, puzzled, as his friend did not move. "We've got a mission tonight, we need you. Come on!"

"Going out with _him_?" The Frenchman was scowling. "I'd rather stay here in my nice, comfortable cell. Mon Colonel does not need all of us tonight."

"Come on!" Carter knew how stubborn his friend could be, but had no wish to test it right here. "Anyway, you know Peter didn't mean anything, he's just being" – _annoying? A pain in the butt?_ – "himself", Carter finished lamely. "And we really need _you_ 'cause we're all hungry and none of us can cook."

His words didn't have the desired effect, though. Apparently now even more determined to sulk, LeBeau crossed his hands behind his head and leaned back against the wall. "Ask _l'Anglais_ to cook. I'm staying here."

"The Colonel –"

"- can come and get me himself if he wishes for me." LeBeau demonstratively closed his eyes. Carter looked around helplessly but, seeing nothing and no-one to help him drag a stubborn Frenchman into the tunnel, just said "Goodbye, Louie" and slowly made his way back.

***

"He won't come." Carter popped out from under Kinch's bunk and apologetically shrugged his shoulders in Hogan's general direction. "He says he won't go out tonight and he won't cook either – he told me that Newkirk should do it."

Kinch, who had looked up from the manual he was reading upon Carter's entrance, muttered something unintelligible under his breath, but stopped when both Hogan and Newkirk shot him a glance. "All right", the Colonel said. "I'll go talk to him – after dinner. Newkirk, you _will_ cook 'cause it's your fault anyway."

"Yes, so why should _we_ be punished?" 

Newkirk took a threatening step towards Kinch, then raised his hands in a rather exaggerated gesture of exasperation. "Bloody 'ell! 'ave some confidence in me, will ya?"

"Stuff it, fellas", Hogan warned before Kinch could answer. "Newkirk, you'd better start 'cause afterwards I want you to go out through the southern tunnel and get our equipment before we leave. Carter, are all your little surprises ready?"

"Yes, sir." While Carter's face light up the way it always did whenever someone mentioned explosives, Newkirk went to work. Quickly, Kinch pretended to read his manual again. Holding it so it would shield his face, he watched the Englishman open LeBeau's pantry and look through the contents with badly-disguised puzzlement. What little hope of a nourishing meal Kinch had, sank rapidly.

***

"_Voilá_ … _Soup á la London_." With a flourish, Newkirk tried to ladle a generous dose of it on Carter's plate, but the strangely white substance stuck like glue to his ladle. He shook it in the hope of dislodging more of it.

"I'm not that hungry, thanks, Newkirk", Hogan said quickly and covered half his plate with his hand.

Kinch, who saw the look on the Englishman's face, decided that being poisoned would not be the worst fate in stock here. However, he took that back after he forced the first spoonful into his mouth. _Soup á la London, yes? No wonder the English are not scared of the Krauts. Can't do anything their cooks haven't done to them already._

Hogan polished off half his plate in record time, then leant back with the expression of a man who'd just missed his train to the Russian Front. His face darkened when Newkirk offered him a second helping. "No, thanks. I'm thinking about starting a diet." Carter, meanwhile, was probing the white mass on his plate with the spoon, watching it intensely as if fearing it were about to attack him. "This reminds me of home", he suddenly said. "Me and my cousin Jim helped my dad paint the fence one time, and our neighbour Barney gave us the paint that was left over from when he'd painted _his_ fence, he'd been keeping it in his barn for ages but he said it would be all right. Only when Jim and me opened the first can, we found that –"

"Carter."

Kinch, shutting out the young sergeant's voice as far as possible, and deciding to be supportive, shoveled the soup into his mouth, forcing himself to think that it was probably no worse than what other POWs got to eat regularly. He shuddered at a sudden vision of Hochstetter hiring Peter as the Gestapo cook – the better to torture the prisoners –, but forced himself to keep on eating. Carter, who hadn't even had a single spoonful, was looking at him with open admiration by the time he pushed away his empty plate, and quickly volunteered to do the dishes, probably because the sink was the farthest possible away from Newkirk.

***

They sat down to play a round of poker afterwards while the Colonel went off in search of Klink, trying to get him to let LeBeau out of the cooler. Newkirk was slowly getting his good humor back after winning nearly a month's ration of cookies from Carter, who was playing even lousier than usual. Kinch was just about to fold when he felt a sharp stinging in his stomach and bent over the table.

"Kinch! What's happening?"

"Nothing", he murmured, trying to move as little as possible. "I just .. don't feel so good."

It was one of the few times that Carter caught on right away. "He's eaten all your food … you've poisoned him!"

Newkirk threw his cards down in disgust, sending cookie piles tumbling to the floor. "Okay, okay, I got it already – so I _am_ a bloody lousy cook! – Kinch, you're all right, mate?"

Kinch tried to nod but couldn't keep from wincing as he felt another stinging in his stomach. The next moment, he found himself being led to his bunk by Carter and Newkirk, just as the Colonel was opening the barracks door.

***

"Louie! Are you awake?" Carter blinked into the darkness while addressing the person lying on the cot. At the sound of a friendly voice, LeBeau propped himself up on his elbow. 

"Louie… The Colonel tried getting Klink to let you out, but he wouldn't, so be quick!"

"I told you I would not come!"

Carter had reached his friend and didn't waste any more time. "The Colonel told me to get you, that's an order, 'cause we need a radioman for tonight and you are the only one Kinch ever told his stuff, 'cause Peter has poisoned Kinch and now he's off picking up stuff from the underground, Peter I mean, so it's only me and the –" He fell silent as LeBeau grabbed his wrist.

"Peter has poisoned Kinch?"

"Yes, he did the cooking like you said he should and he made a soup, only it was more like paint gone –"

LeBeau slumped down on the cot, oblivious to the rest of the sentence.

"I let him poison all of you."

"It's all right, Louie", Carter comforted him. "The Colonel told him to do the cooking … though he didn't eat much of it himself, but –"

"I'm coming." Determinedly, LeBeau jumped down from the cot and made his way past Carter to the tunnel entrance, all the while muttering in French. He was nearly there when Carter grabbed him. "The guard!" Sure enough, they could both hear footsteps now, closing in fast… it sounded like thunder, so it was probably Schultz.

"Come when he's left", Carter said, disappearing quickly while LeBeau shoved the entrance shut. He heard the Frenchman's voice as he scurried back: "Hello Schultzie, why are you in such a hurry?"

***

"Colonel, we have a problem."

"Do we?" Hogan glanced at Kinch, who was lying on his bunk and trying his best to look not as sick as he felt. A very apologetic Newkirk had left through the southern tunnel, and Hogan had spent the time since then trying to figure out how to make some of the Krauts eat the remaining food. _All's fair in love and war_.

"Louie was just about to get into the tunnel when Schultz came, so I waited until he left, but it turns out he'd come to take LeBeau to the other cell, the one we don't have a tunnel into, so –"

"LeBeau's trapped. Damn." Hogan started pacing the room – never a good sign – but stopped after a few steps. "All right. The key's the key. We need to get the key from Schultz, let LeBeau out…. Where's a thief when you need one?"

At that, he watched Carter start to automatically search the room, until he remembered that Newkirk had gone out. Even if he hadn't, Hogan mused, he probably wouldn't be found atop the footlockers or behind the stove. "Never mind, I'll do it … Can't be too hard", he tried to dispell their worried glances. "I've spent enough time watching the Maestro and anyway, this is _Schultz_ we're talking about."

***

It was easy enough to track down Schultz. Hogan had him cornered next to the Rec Hall in no time, but there, the tricky part started. He was babbling about some important Kraut's impending visit, trying to coax information from Schultz so obviously that even the well-fed sergeant caught on.

"Colonel Hogan, I will not say anything. I know nothing, I tell nothing."

"Yeah, all right, relax… I'm not trying to pump you for information. I promise. Just havin' a friendly chat." Hogan laid an arm around Schultz' waist (at least as far as he could reach), trying to feel behind the guard's back for the key ring.

"Colonel Hogan." Schultz wriggled out of the near-embrace and tightened his grip around his rifle. "You should not be out of the barracks anyway. You will get into trouble."

"I promise, Schultz, I won't. Just on my way to talk to Klink –"

"The Kommandant is not in his office any more!"

"—but this is _important_", Hogan protested, changing tactics. "I want to talk to him about LeBeau, and it can't wait!"

"Colonel Hogan…" While Schultz was talking, Hogan made as if to run. Schultz immediately let the rifle drop and grabbed him, giving Hogan a good excuse to tumble against him like he'd seen Newkirk do it.

"Are you all right?" The sergeant had not budged. He looked down worriedly at his prisoner. "You are as clumsy as the _Englander_, the Newkirk, today!"

Hogan's fingers found the key ring and unhooked it from Schultz's belt. "Just a little faint from the lack of food", he claimed, knowing fully well that Schultz had come to expect him to complain about the meager rations at every available opportunity. Not that he was exaggerating, today … "I guess you're right, I'd better let the Iron Eagle enjoy his beauty sleep. God knows he needs a lot of it." With that, he retreated towards the barracks, trying to hide the key behind his back and look innocent at the same time. He was glad for the dark to give him cover.

***

Unbeknownst to both men, Klink was not lying in bed but rather strolling across the nightly compound towards Barracks 2. Burkhalter would have been satisfied, had he seen how well his recent string of "surprise" visits kept Klink on his toes.

"Attention!"

Carter and Kinch, the barracks' only current occupants, jumped at the voice that came with the opening of the door – that is, Carter jumped to attention and Kinch tried to, then sank back onto the nearest bunk with a low hiss.

Klink let his gaze sweep the room, looking in vain for the other prisoners, until he focused on Kinch. "Why are you not standing at attention?"

"He's ill", Carter came to his defense. "Very ill. He has a bad case of food poisoning, 'cause of Newkirk's cooking."

Klink's expression, which had been close to his usual oblivious self, hardened at the mentioning of the English prisoner. "Where _is_ Newkirk? Where is Colonel Hogan? Where is everyone? Are they out digging tunnels?"

"Oh no, sir, they wouldn't, sir." Carter's mind was racing while his ears were listening desperately for the welcome sound of Hogan's approaching footsteps. The Colonel would know what to tell Klink. He, Carter, didn't … all he ever managed to do was put his foot in his mouth when he was talking.

Kinch was pushing himself up, trying to help him, but Klink had his eyes fixed on Carter who very much wished that he could disappear into one of the tunnels this instant.

"I am waiting! Where are they?"

"They are, uh… Well, LeBeau is in the cooler", Carter said as brightly as he could, hoping to distract Klink. "Of course you don't need to tell me that, you'd know because Schultz sent him there, and Schultz is _your_ guard. He must have told you about the fighting, only there wasn't much fighting really, I'm not sure if LeBeau really shoved Newkirk or if he just stumbled, but anyway, he's in the cooler. Sir. Anyway, so that's LeBeau accounted for, and –"

"Where is Hogan?" Klink demanded, interrupting him with a panicking expression, as if he could already hear the whistle of a train to the Russian Front. "Is there an escape going on?"

"No, sir!" Carter raised his right hand in what he hoped was a solemn gesture. "I swear, there isn't! They're just … uh … just…"

"Colonel Hogan is looking for you, sir", Kinch jumped to his aid (figuratively, that is). Carter found himself breathing again as Klink turned towards the black sergeant.

"Looking for me?"

"Yes, sir", Carter ploughed on, ignoring Kinch's glances. "He wanted to talk to you… because of Kinch… because he's ill, like I said…"

"And I guess Newkirk is also looking for me", Klink said in a way that Carter would have called sarcastic had it come from any other person.

"Uh, no, he isn't…" Carter automatically responded before catching himself. What _could_ he say? _Come on, there must be thousands of suitable lies, it never takes the Colonel more than a second to come up with one…_ 'If all else fails, flatter him', that's what Hogan always said, but the only appreciative thing Carter could think of was 'Uh, Kommandant, are you looking less bald and grumpy today?' and that probably would not work. Anyway, Klink had not forgotten how wrong Carter had been about guessing his age. So, no flattery here… "I know what he's doing", Carter said, getting desperate. "But I can't tell you. Sir. It's a surprise, you know, for the surprising surprise party…"

"_What_ surprising surprise party?" Klink's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean a surprise escape? He is digging a tunnel, I'll bet you."

"No, sir!" Carter forced himself to meet the Kommandant's eyes. _Boy, for a bootlicking coward, Klink sure manages to look threatening_.

"Very well", Klink finally said. "We'll see about that surprise of yours. But you had better not lie to me. If any of your friends are missing at roll call tomorrow, I'll have you both shot." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the barracks. Carter let himself fall onto the nearest bunk. Talking their way out of trouble might look easy when the Colonel was doing it, but Carter would much rather handle a live bomb than try it again.

***

"Everything all right, fellas?" Hogan came in soon afterwards, followed by LeBeau.

"Klink was here", Kinch answered, "but we got rid of him."

"Very well." Hogan looked like he wanted further explanations, but then glanced at his watch – "Is Newkirk back yet? We need to get started soon!"

At this very moment, the familiar thumping sound was heard. Carter went to open the bunk and Newkirk climbed out, dragging a sack full of their equipment. "All right", Hogan said. "We're on schedule here. LeBeau, can you go down to the radio? Kinch, you'll be okay?"

"I'm fine, Colonel", Kinch claimed. "I feel much better already. I could do the job."

"No need. LeBeau will do fine, you stay here and relax." Kinch nodded. Newkirk, meanwhile, busied himself with dressing up as a German Hauptmann, trying hard not to look at anyone. He threw a spare uniform at Carter, who caught it and went to dress himself. LeBeau disappeared into a tunnel just as Hogan told Carter to bring his explosives. He had them stacked nearby and came back with his hands full, loading them into a sack the Colonel held open.

***

After they had all gone, LeBeau, down in the tunnel, took a deep breath and looked at the radio equipment stacked around him, trying not to think of the radioman to go with it. He found the morse key and started typing, remembering the morse alphabeth the best he could.

P-A-P-A B-E-E-R T-O A-U-N-T H-I-L-D-A …

***

In a barn about twenty kilometres away, two men and a girl jumped as the signal came. Their leader took a look at what the radioman scribbled on his pad, frowning at the numerous spelling mistakes. "_Papa Bear scheint heute betrunken zu sein_. [Papa Bear seems to be drunk today.]"

***

Upstairs in the barracks, Kinch closed his eyes and tried to tell himself that all would be right as rain in the morning. He hadn't been lying when he told Hogan that he'd be okay; he _did_ feel better. Still, it was eerily quiet, being alone in the barracks – which was ridiculous, he thought; he'd certainly been alone in the tunnel often enough to be used to it. All that could be heard was the occasional scurrying of the rats and the ticking of his wristwatch…

_Hold on… I don't have a wristwatch._

Kinch immediately thought: _a bomb_, and then: _Look at what conclusions you're jumping to, that's what living with Carter does –_

_Carter_. Kinch had a sudden vision of the young sergeant, with his hands full, dropping explosives into the sack Hogan held for him. With all the noise and movement going on, would they have noticed if one fell to the floor? He was up from the bunk in no time, switched on the light and went crouching down on the floor where Carter had stood. There… a small package, lying next to one of the footlockers, caught his eye. He had been right; it was ticking.

_What am I to do? _Kinch looked at the jumble of wires, wishing very much he'd have to deal with radio equipment instead of explosives. With Carter, who sometimes had a hard time knowing red from green, or remembering his own name for that matter, you never knew how his stuff was going to work.   
Still –

- all he'd have to do was throw it outside and let it explode in the compound -

- and tell an already suspicious Klink just how a small, home-made explosive had turned up here, with no planes and no strangers passing all day and night.

Or maybe he could take it out into the forest through one of the tunnels – provided it wouldn't detonate until then; otherwise he'd blow himself and their tunnel system up. Kinch closed his eyes for a moment, then scowled at the package as if daring it to continue ticking. It didn't look too complicated, and probably wasn't too powerful either… although with a man who made exploding pens there really was no way of telling. Still, all he'd have to do was cross and cut the right wires, and there weren't many. He just hoped he'd have the time. Trying not to remember that the Colonel would have his head for stupidly endangering himself, Kinch looked around for some tools and carefully set to work.

A few minutes later, he had crosses two wires and was preparing to cut the last one, like he'd seen Carter do. He sent a short prayer heavenwards before determinedly cutting the wire.

The ticking stopped.

Only now, Kinch became aware that he was sweating as if he'd just come from a long run. He shook his head. How nervous, babbling, oblivious-to-his-surroundings little Carter could actually enjoy this sort of thing was anyone's guess.  

***

"Have you had a nice walk?" LeBeau asked as the German soldiers climbed out of the tunnel, having already abandoned the radio. As far as he knew, all had gone well.

"We did." Colonel Hogan took off the Oberst's cap that gave him an uncanny resemblance to Klink. "Although for some reason, Aunt Hilda insisted on calling me 'Papa B-E-E-R'."

"I'm sorry, Colonel." The little Frenchman shrugged apologetically. "My morse isn't that good."

"You did a fine job, mate."

Hogan almost expected some retort on the lines of 'Better than you for sure, but none came. Given how sorry Newkirk looked, mentioning his cooking would have been like shooting fish in a barrel; LeBeau probably felt the same way.

"Kinch, you're okay?"

"Right as rain." Newkirk let out an audible breath at that. The black sergeant, who has been sitting at the table when they came in, threw a small package at Carter. "That's one of yours, I believe."

"Thanks, Kinch… What's that, a surprise gift?" Carter looked at it. Then: "Uh-oh, boy."

"What?" Hogan demanded.

"Uh, Colonel, you see when I said that I thought I had one more explosive, but I couldn't find it…"

"… that was because you left it at home", Hogan finished. "Good thing we did have enough. Even better thing it wasn't a live bomb!"

"Yes, sir", Kinch agreed with a deadpan expression, hoping Carter would not mention the cut wire. "That was lucky."

For a moment he thought the Colonel would demand an explanation, but then Hogan just turned away. "Better get some shut-eye before roll call. Dismissed, the lot of you."

***

Hogan crossed the room to his private quarters, thinking that today's job rotation experience had worked out surprisingly well. Still, there would be no repeats if he had anything to say about it… otherwise, someone – Newkirk, probably – might well come up with the idea that they could take it in turns being the Colonel. Now _there_ was an intriguing thought …

***

LeBeau considered returning to his cell, but figured that it would be soon enough to do so in the morning before Schultz came to check on him. He closed his eyes in the dark. So, things were lousy in France at the moment, but his countrymen would beat the Krauts eventually, no doubt about that. In the meantime, he was needed here – if only to ensure that the Allies wouldn't lose any men to atrocious cooking. _Poor Kinch_… _I really shouldn't have walked out on them_, LeBeau thought. Well, he'd make up for it tomorrow – once Hogan got Klink to let him out of the cooler – with a _special_ meal, worthy of the Ritz in Paris. With that inspiring thought, he went to sleep.

THE END

So, how do you like it? Reviews are appreciated!

----------

_THE SWITCHAROO CHALLENGE (posted on Smartgroups.com, 29 May 2002)_

_Each of the five Heroes have a special nitch to fill with their own talent. Hogan is good at coming up with the plans, Newkirk can steal just about anything, Carter can blow just about anything up, LeBeau can cook just about anything, and Kinch can radio it all back to London.  They all work together like a well-oiled machine._

_But what would happen if each part of that machine had to do something usually done by another part?_

_You're challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a fic where everyone has to do something normally reserved for someone else on the team.  Could Newkirk cook a meal?  Can Kinch blow up a bridge? Should Carter come up with the plans?  OK maybe not…but you get the idea.  Mix up the jobs a bit, have some fun.  It'd certainly be an opportunity for everyone to get some extra appreciation for the other jobs.  While it'd be nice if everyone succeeded at their new jobs, it's not necessary._

_May your ideas come easy, and your pen never run out of ink,_

_Lauren (the Oboe one)_


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